Windbound
by AkamaiMom
Summary: Set after the events of "Don't Look Back", this is a tag of sorts to Season 3. Chandler is gone, and Sasha is trying to deal with the fallout. Disappointed and saddened, she seeks solitude with her thoughts, until that reverie is broken by a friend. Tom/Sasha angst, with a side of Slattery friendship. Spoilers for Season 3 finale.


Windbound

 _Episode tag for "Don't Look Back"._

 _Remember, I'm a canon girl, so I probably won't speculate on what happens post-Season 3. I just couldn't believe that Sasha was that blasé about Chandler leaving the ship, the Navy, and his responsibilities, and I don't believe that Slattery was ignorant about the relationship between Sasha and Tom. I couldn't get around that, and I needed some closure. This is what happened._

 _Also, be patient with me. I'm on a crash-course learning about ships and navigation and all this boat stuff. The sum-total of my sailing experience was on the trampoline of my brother's catamaran as we would toodle our way around North Shore of O'ahu where I grew up. I'm figuring all of this stuff out._

 _-O-O-O-_

 _She could still taste him._

 _She could still feel him against her body, the desperation of his mouth fresh against her lips. She could sense his skin beneath her fingers, the lift and fall of his chest as he'd breathed her in, the shift of his thighs against hers, strong and powerful and hard._

 _It had been farewell. It had been welcome home. It had been a plea, a prayer, a warning._

 _And she'd pulled away. She'd broken away at the exact moment that she'd wanted to take it further. She'd pushed gently at him when what she'd wanted more than anything else was to allow her fingers to find the buttons of his shirt and convince him to stay. Maybe he would have found solace or comfort in her bed. At the very least, he could have found a release for the stress and tension he'd been harboring. He could have used her in his quest to forget life for just a few moments, or a few hours. She wouldn't even have minded, if it had helped him forget, or helped him to remember. She'd been considering this for longer than she'd even admitted to herself. That realization had struck her like a bolt from the blue, in and around the breathless joy of feeling him against her._

 _She'd thought that he might be persuaded by the deeper intimacy. But then, she remembered that she knew him. He hadn't been persuaded so many years before, and back then there had been infinitely less baggage to move off the bed in order to make room for their tangled bodies._

 _So, she'd drawn back, ending the kiss, fighting against the urge to cry in frustration, in anger, in grief. And she'd watched him straighten his cap, seen the emotions argue themselves across his face as he'd looked at her - loss, and desire, and disgust._

 _There had been no hope in his eyes. No hope in the eyes of a man who had always been one to seek for possibilities amidst trial and failure. That had hurt most of all._

 _So, she'd pushed him away. Hadn't even fought when he'd opened the door. Hadn't even called him back, or said goodbye. She'd just let him leave. And then she'd slumped down into a chair and damned herself as a coward, wiping away tears with fingers that were shaking._

 _She could still taste him._

"Are you going to go after him?"

Startled, she turned. She'd been standing at the rail of the weatherdeck ever since he'd marched away, staring at nothing, really. She'd half-hoped that Tom would turn and look her way before disembarking, but he'd saluted his way down the line and then left without a backwards glance.

Just like Slattery had told him to do.

Sasha still didn't know what to make of that. She didn't know whether his leaving so stoically meant that he was regaining control, or if it meant that he was more lost than she'd imagined. But then, she didn't truly know this Tom, and wasn't entirely sure that she even could.

Was she going to go after him?

Sasha shook her head. Slow, sad, the movement revealed more than she'd intended it to, and Mike caught it.

"Why not?" The big man's voice was gentle. "He needs you."

"No, he doesn't." She turned back towards the railing, glaring down at what she could see of the ocean just beyond the bow - beyond where the ship's crew worked with such precision. "He's never needed me."

Mike made a noise that started out as a snort before he expertly covered it up with a fake cough. Moving forward, he leaned into the rail, resting the heels of his palms on the warm metal bars. "You and I both know that's a crock, Sasha."

"He blames me." She looked down at her shoes. Appropriated from someone - at the moment she couldn't remember who - they were just ill-fitting enough to remind her that they'd never been hers. Nothing she possessed at the moment was really hers. It had all been begged and borrowed from her shipmates. Hell - even her shipmates weren't hers. She'd acquired them only through her association with Tom. "He blames me, and he's right to."

"Why the hell should be blame you?" Mike's narrowed eyes caught her gaze. "As far as I can tell, you've done nothing but help us in this mess."

"Peng." Sasha shrugged a single shoulder. "I think that he feels that I should have known what was going on."

This time, Slattery didn't even try to disguise his reaction. He snorted. "Believe me. He doesn't."

Pressing her lips together, Sasha glanced towards the heavens. It was a beautiful day - clear and balmy. San Diego had always been one of her favorite port cities, and today was a gleaming example of why. As she looked off towards the horizon, it was difficult to tell where the sky ended and the ocean began. The entire scene was an easy, graceful melange of cool blue. Calm seas and clear skies. Perfect. Despite herself, she sighed. "He's never quite trusted me, I think. Not since things went wrong."

"When?" Mike frowned. "Back in Hong Kong?"

"No." Sasha shook her head, tucking her hair back behind her ear. "Before. Way before Hong Kong. Back in the Academy."

"What happened between the two of you?"

"Stupid stuff." Turning, she leaned her hips back against the rail, crossing her arms across her rib cage. "We were too young. Too selfish, too stubborn. Full of ourselves, you know? We thought we knew everything and in reality, we knew nothing."

Mike's slow nod indicated that he'd accepted her response, even though it had explained nothing. He tapped his fingertips against the rails. "I get it."

But Sasha had already gone deeper. "Actually, that's wrong. _I_ was too young. _I_ was too selfish and stubborn. I was full of myself. Tom already knew who he was and what he wanted. He just had the bad luck to meet me."

"You were his student."

"He was this amazing man already. Even though he's only a few years older, he was completely in control of himself. Wise, you know? Almost like he'd been preparing his whole life to be a leader. I was - not so wise. I was an arrogant cuss. Too used to getting my own way."

Slattery's lips twitched in a sideways grin. "I can't imagine. Color me shocked."

Pointedly ignoring the friendly sarcasm, Sasha continued. "My father was a diplomat, and we lived all over the world. Paris, Rome, Moscow, Tokyo. Beijing. I attended private schools, had bodyguards, the whole schlemiel. But I was completely full of myself, you know? I thought that I needed to rebel, so I joined the Navy."

"Joining the military was rebelling?"

She raised a single shoulder in a casual shrug. "I wasn't on the debutante circuit, or attending Harvard Law, so yes. It was a form of rebellion. My parents had no idea what to do with the news."

"My guess is that the Navy recognized you for the asset that you could be pretty quickly."

"I got fast-tracked. Languages come easily to me. It seemed natural for my skills to get used in Intelligence. And I was good at it."

"I have a feeling that your parents weren't too thrilled about that."

"Not really." Sasha smiled towards the heavens. "But they loved me, regardless. They were good people."

"Were?"

"Killed in a plane crash several years ago. Before the plague."

"I'm sorry."

She inclined her head slightly. "It was a long time ago."

"Grief tends to stick around, doesn't it?"

Sasha paused, studying the large man next to her. She liked him. Mike was the kind of guy who was totally on the surface, hiding nothing. He was genuine and real and bold as brass - exactly the kind of officer that she liked. She'd trusted him immediately, and probably would have even without Tom's implicit belief in Slattery as a leader and a friend. The fact that Mike had accepted her as part of the inner circle of leadership without question had only increased her appreciation for him. Now, however, standing next to him, she got the feeling that there were currents in him that ran deeper than she'd thought. "Yes. It does."

"I think that's part of Tom's problem just now." Mike's jaw worked for a moment before he continued. "He's lost more than a guy should have to, and hasn't really had the time or opportunity to deal with it."

"You're talking about Rachel Scott."

"I'm talking about more than just Dr. Scott." Straightening, Slattery shoved a hand deep into his pocket, raising the other to scratch at his ear. "Darien, his father, countless members of his crew. Hell - he even mourns Michener."

"They were friends."

"I think that Tom saw Michener as a wounded puppy that needed a mommy." Mike's sideways grin was wry. "Jeffrey wasn't strong. He could have been, and I'm sure was a powerhouse at some point. But he couldn't fight his way past his demons."

"So I've learned."

"It's been a helluva a year or so. The people we've run across, the crap we've seen. It just kept coming, and Tom just kept handling it. I don't think he's ever taken a moment to dwell on it."

"From what I understand, Captain Slattery, neither have you." He'd understood her, she could tell by the way his face shuttered, his eyes losing some of their customary gleam.

"There's a difference between knowing and not knowing." Mike turned his gaze out over the water tripping over itself in the bay. "Tom knows his wife and father and Dr. Scott are gone. I still don't know about my wife and girls. I can still believe that they're alive somewhere, and safe. You can't mourn what you haven't lost, can you?"

"But still. Living in limbo. . ." Sasha's voice trailed off. "You're stronger than I would be."

He lifted his large shoulders, giving a little shake of his head with a dismissive sigh. "Who the hell knows? You just keep moving on. That's all you _can_ do, sometimes."

Despite herself, she looked out over her shoulder towards the ramp connecting the ship to the dock. "And Tom has, indeed, moved on."

"Which brings me back to the question I asked you." Slattery tilted his head to one side, the brim of his cap casting a diagonal shadow across his square jaw. "Are you going to go after him?"

Sasha shook her head, her hair tickling the back of her neck. "He won't come back. Not even if I ask him. _Especially_ not if I ask him. He needs to get away from all this."

"He needs someone he can trust at his side."

Her laugh was partially muffled by the breeze. "And you think that's me?"

"I think I've noticed how the two of you look at each other."

She had no answer for that, so she simply stood, staring at the gentle waves of the harbor. She'd thought they'd been more subtle. Apparently not.

"I'm not wrong." Mike took a step closer to her, peering down towards the deck of the ship, where his crew was working. "Tom probably didn't tell you that I was a detective in my past life. I'm pretty decent at ferreting out the truth."

"Then you know why he doesn't need me around." Sasha canted her chin upward toward Mike, squinting into the sun. "He and I are too different."

"From where I was standing, you looked like you got on alright."

For a long, long beat, Sasha mulled over how to respond to that. "Tom Chandler lives in a world of black and white, where there is good and bad, right and wrong. Guilty and innocent."

"He's idealistic, that's for damned sure."

"I live where it's gray." Sasha reached up and gathered her hair at her nape, then pulled it over one shoulder, holding it against the wind. "I live where there's shadow. My entire world is subterfuge and obscurity. That's where I exist and work and thrive. He doesn't understand that part of me. He never has. He couldn't."

Slattery's steel-blue eyes sharpened. "You're wrong about that. He's changed over the past year or so. He's had to."

"But maybe I don't want to be part of that." Turning again, she leaned back against the rail. "I don't want to be the person who turns him to the dark side."

Mike's smile was broad, and real. "What, so now you're Emperor Palpatine?"

"Yes, Captain Slattery." Sasha let out what could only be described as a giggle. "I'm one of the Sith."

"Hey - you're the one that invoked the Star Wars references." Sinking his hands into his pockets, the big man rocked forward in his sizable boots. "But seriously. He needs you, Ms. Cooper. He needs someone at his side who doesn't need him, if that makes any damned sense at all."

Shifting her weight sent her toes sliding. Her borrowed shoes were too large - just a bit. She'd become spoiled during her time in Asia. Pre-plague, one thing that Hong Kong had had over the United States was the easy availability of custom-made clothing and shoes, and Sasha had availed herself of those perks. She'd left all of it behind when she'd fled the airport with Tom and Wolf so many weeks ago. And while she wasn't a woman who tended towards complaining, she would be immensely grateful to find herself some clothing that fit. She was tired of living with nothing to call her own. Now that the port had been secured, now that the regional leaders had been taken into custody, now that Allison Shaw was dead, maybe she could start to carve out a new life here. Plant some roots. Start anew.

A few days ago, she'd allowed herself to hope that those roots would be somewhere in the vicinity of Tom's.

"You told him not to look back." She didn't look up, keeping a careful eye down towards her boots. She had to clear her throat to go on. "When he was leaving the ship. You told him not to look back."

"He didn't need the distraction."

"Of what?" Hesitantly, she went on. "Of the crew?"

"Of the past." Mike's feet shuffled a little on the deck, bringing him closer to her. His voice lowered. "He needs to look forward now, and not dwell on everything else that's happened."

"How the hell is that even possible?"

Slattery pulled his hands from his pockets, folding his arms across his broad body. "Have you ever heard of something being 'windbound'?"

"Windbound?"

"It's a nautical term." Mike clenched his jaw briefly before continuing. "It refers to a ship that can't move in the direction that it needs to go because of contrary or strong winds. It's a ship that's stationary, useless."

"So, what do you do about it?" Sasha studied the man's expression, intrigued.

"Nothing. You have to wait it out. The only other thing you can do is secure the rigging and follow the winds, or trim up differently and fight against them."

"But what if you don't want to go in the direction that the winds are blowing?"

"That's the problem, Sasha. You either have to fight the winds or follow them." Mike's light blue eyes peered into hers, reading more than just her face. "You really don't have a choice in the matter. There's a larger power than you in charge, at that point."

"Who, God?"

"God. Fate. Mother Nature. Hell - Poseidon, maybe." Slattery's smile was rueful. "Whoever it is, you don't make any progress until he decides that you can. You have to be patient until the wind changes. You just have to wait it out. Focus on what you can do, rather than on the fact that you're idle. You've just got to wait for the winds to blow in your direction."

Sasha dragged her gaze from his, focusing instead on the bay around them, on the tiny, sharp tips of the waves playing around the Nathan James. For having lived the majority of her adult life in the Navy, she'd never truly recognized how beautiful the ocean was, nor how powerful she could be. But just now, in this moment, the sun beating down on her shoulders, and the breeze whipping her hair into a tangle, Sasha Cooper realized a truth she'd never acknowledged before. She had spent her entire career changing winds, forcing the tides to flow in the direction which benefitted her, pushing ships in directions that they hadn't really wanted to go. She'd never really been at the mercy of anything, arrogantly believing that she could bend circumstances to her will, taming any issue through diplomacy or simple, stubborn strength.

But some things couldn't be forced. Some things needed to be waited out. Some people needed to be given their sails. The trouble was, it was difficult and dangerous to sail solo.

"Are you going to go after him? He needs you."

She swallowed hard, fighting for control. "He thinks I rejected him."

Mike frowned. "When?"

"He was packing up, getting ready to disembark." She tossed a knowing grimace in Slattery's direction. "I went to his cabin and told him that he couldn't quit. I ordered him to stay, to fight. I told him that the country needed him. I ordered him to put his uniform back on and get back to work."

"What did he say?"

"Not much. He continued packing. He put his hat on. He - " _He kissed me. He touched my cheek and he breathed me in as if he were trying to draw something from my soul. And I pushed him away. I couldn't bear to see him this way, this broken, this confused, this hollow. So I pulled away, I pushed him away. I sent him off this ship. I was the contrary wind. I was the final blow._ Sasha breathed deeply, seeking control over the tremble that threatened in the back of her throat. "And then he said goodbye. Though, not in so many words."

A single brow lifted beneath the brim of Slattery's cap. He'd understood. "Oh?"

"And I pushed him away. I just - " Sighing, Sasha pressed her lips together, giving a little shake of her head. "I just couldn't."

"He needs you."

He was merely standing there, looking at her, but Mike's words echoed in Sasha's head. And they were mostly true. Tom did need someone right now, although he most certainly didn't need her. Facing his new reality alone would be a challenge. Living with the brutal truths of the past year or so - well, it would be painful. Stormy seas, and all that. Contrary winds.

"I made him go. So, you see. I'm the last person in the world that Tom Chandler needs chasing after him right now."

"He needs you, Sasha." He _had_ spoken this time, his voice like liquid velvet. More gentle than seemed possible from a man like Mike Slattery. "There's nobody else who knows him like you do. Who challenges him like you do. You can make him see straight. You can help him. Otherwise, he's facing all of this alone."

Painfully, Sasha had to acknowledge the truth in that. But she still hesitated, knowing that she'd hurt him. Knowing full-well how he'd taken her withdrawal. Exactly which long-scarred wounds she'd reopened. "I don't know if I can, Mike."

"He's foundering, Sasha. He's dead in the water. He's going to fight against that wind until he's too exhausted to continue."

"So, in your analogy, am I the wind or the sea?"

"Dunno."

"Then how am I supposed to know what to do?"

Slattery's eyes flashed wide. With an exaggerated shrug, he pivoted on his heel, crossing to the other side of stack weatherdeck in only a few of his long strides. Pausing at the edge, he looked back over his shoulder. "How the hell should I know? I'm just an ex-detective salty dog. You're the smarty-pants Intelligence officer."

And with that, Slattery was gone.

For a long, long time, Sasha simply stood at the lifelines, looking out over the calm waves of the bay. She could still catch him, if she tried. She even knew where he'd go. Home, to raise his children. Probably back to the house in Norfolk where he'd lived and loved with Darien. She could find him.

She wanted to.

Heaven help her, she _ached_ to.

Leaning into the rail again, she closed her eyes against the glare of the sun on the glassy deep of the water. The breeze lifted the strands of her hair, whipping them around her ears, her throat, her face, but she didn't attempt to tame them, giving up on that front. The air around her was cool, but the metal beneath her palms was warm. And her toes were slipping again within the too-large space of her shoes.

She lifted a hand to wipe away a suspicious wetness at the corner of her eye. Tears? Or just her body's natural response to the stiffening wind? She didn't know, or care. Wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand, she lingered a touch against her mouth, remembering.

Warmth. Pleading. Despair. The gentle, forceful press of his mouth, the way his hand had shaken as he'd framed her face with his fingers. He'd been on the edge, his hopelessness palpable, his body tired, and his spirit broken. He'd been fighting with himself over his decision to leave, just as she'd been fighting her desire to convince him to stay. She'd wanted more - so much more. She'd wanted to draw him closer, to claim him with her body as he'd already stolen her spirit, as he'd already taken her heart.

She loved him. Still. Again. _Still_. She loved him, and she'd pushed him away. Mike was wrong. Tom might have been windblown, but he wasn't directionless nor idle. He'd just set his sails to follow the contrary winds. He'd willingly succumbed to the gale.

Cool moisture had reached her cheeks again, and Sasha madly swiped it away, blinking into the wind in a stupid effort to hide her tears. She breathed deeply of the sea air, seeking strength in the bracing bite of salt and fish and the metallic tint of the ship. It was caustic and cleansing, all at the same time. Yet, still not enough to stem the surge of her pain.

She'd sent him away alone. This time, she knew, her rejection was for keeps. He wouldn't welcome her back.

And when she breathed in again, she choked back a sob. His taste was gone. Replaced by the sea, and the air, and her tears.

 _She loved him. Still. She loved him, and she'd pushed him away._

 _And now, he was gone._


End file.
